


All You Have to Do

by Randominity



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Oral Sex, Roughhousing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randominity/pseuds/Randominity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis doesn't want to win Zayn over - he just wants to win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All You Have to Do

Louis can tell from the dead weight of Zayn's head against his shin that Zayn's asleep, even before he nudges forward slightly and Zayn's head lolls to the side. He gently withdraws his leg so that Zayn's fully resting on the edge of the sofa in the center of the consuite and sits up properly.

"Niall!" he whisper-shouts, and clicks his fingers far off to the side to get Niall's attention. "Niall!" He nicks a chip from Zayn's half-finished lunch and throws it at Niall's head. "Ni! All!" he says, when Niall huffs and turns to look at him. "Zayn's asleep - throw me a salt packet!"

Niall grins at him and shakes his head. "Sorry, you're on your own for that," he says, and bites down around a forkful of chips. "Didn't Lou just finish with your hair?"

Louis drops his hands and huffs exasperatedly. "Where _were_ you?" he asks. "She did mine and Zayn's ages ago." He plucks a handful of chips from Zayn's plate and sets them in the palm of his hand.

"And you're about to fuck Zayn's up," Niall says.

"Well, the general idea is that I _won't_ fuck it up," Louis says. He purses his lips and gently lays a chip lengthwise inside the curl of Zayn's quiff, and then another, and another, and then he starts to lay them crosswise over the foundation he's built like a Jenga tower.

He carefully separates the hairs down the middle of Zayn's quiff and wedges a chip in the gap, and it's only when he brushes the tip with his fingers by accident that Zayn tips his head forward and mumbles, "What?" He turns to Louis, blinking in confusion, and a sprinkle of chips slides down the side of his head onto his shoulder.

"Hi," Louis chirps, waving, then hops off the sofa and springs a few steps away. He dances back within reach to give Zayn a fighting chance. It's only fair after all, he reckons; the lad only just woke up. Zayn swings out with one hand, reaching for Louis' ankle, but he's still a second too slow, and Louis darts away, plucking a discarded chip from the sofa cushion and flinging it at Zayn.

"You put chips in my hair," Zayn mumbles, not so much in disbelief as disappointment. He scrapes together a handful from the floor and Louis twists away as he throws them, his back absorbing the spray of flung chips.

"Yes," Louis admits, grinning, dodging out of reach of Zayn's open-handed swing. "Niall? Give me a hand here?"

"Oh, _fine_ ; here you go, mate," Niall says, and tosses him a salt packet.

"Not helping!" Louis yelps, bracing himself behind an endtable while Zayn glares at him. There's still a chip in Zayn's quiff, wobbling precariously, and Louis can't help but giggle at it, grateful for small victories.

"Niall's being smart," Zayn says darkly, and feels around in his quiff until his fingers close around the errant chip. Louis scurries to grip at Niall's shoulders, huddling up beside him for protection and groping over Niall's tray, too fast for Niall to put down a hand to guard it.

"Save me, Niall," Louis says, an assortment of rice grains scattering in the air when he raises his hand.

"I was still eating that, you twat," Niall grunts, and punches Louis in the fleshy part of his arm, bowling him over and sending him scrambling onto his stomach as Zayn steps around him. He feels Zayn's hand close round his ankle, and kicks out wildly.

"No," he says. "No, you can't have me! You'll never take me alive!"

"Come here," Zayn growls, crawling up the length of Louis' body and planting a knee into the small of his back. "You're making a mess," he says, pulling at the back of Louis' collar and shoving a fistful of chips down inside while Louis squirms. He tucks the back of Louis' shirt into his trousers and pats down the chips before getting back up, and Louis stays down, winded, feeling tacky from grease and salt against his skin.

**

Louis is still shaking chip fragments and bits of salt out of his shirt in front of the toilet when Liam wanders by, shining an apple on his jeans. "What's happened to you?"

"Me and Zayn were playing around, and somehow, Niall's lunch got involved," Louis says, and, finding a grain of rice in a crease under his arm, he tugs his shirt up and over his head.

"Ah, _somehow_ ," Liam says, nodding, evidently feeling no need for Louis to elaborate. "How bad does Zayn have it?"

"He's fine." Louis snaps his shirt into the air, and nods to indicate the space around the corner. "He's still out there."

"Well, I don't know what you were expecting," Liam tells him. "You know Zayn always wins with you, and now you'll have to get your hair done again. Lou'll tell you off for that."

Pulling his shirt back on and cringing as he feels it flatten his quiff momentarily, Louis concedes the point about his hair, but says, "No, no, that's not true. Zayn does lose sometimes." He reaches up gingerly to pat at his poor, wilting quiff and the stray hair he can feel tickling his forehead. "There was that time I pinned him down the other day and made him cry."

"Yeah, no, though," Liam says, pointing at Louis with the apple still in his hand, "because he was only faking crying, wasn't he? And then he pinned you and tickled you, so you didn't win that one."

"Yeah, yeah," Louis mutters. He'd forgot how that one turned out. "He cheated, though; that hardly counts."

"Actually, he tickled you until _you_ cried, didn't he?" Liam asks.

"He preyed on my weaknesses," Louis says sullenly.

"All's fair in war, mate," Liam shrugs, biting into his apple.

**

"Can we just put in a movie, then?" Niall wants to know, curled up in an armchair with his arms draped over his knees to hold his mobile. "I'm not in here to do nothing; what's the point?"

"You could have another beer," Louis offers from the edge of his bed, his head resting on Zayn's stomach and Zayn's hand in his hair. They've already vetoed Fifa and Friends and his own vote of Homeland, so as far as he's concerned, he'd rather text his sisters and read his Twitter feed until he nods off. It's his room, after all.

"If I have another beer, I'm going to want to play something," Niall reasons, and Liam gets up off the floor to rummage through the DVD booklet he brought with him.

There's a 24-hour shopping network on the telly now, volume low, and Louis cranes his neck to watch it, soothed by the hypnotic feel of his hair slipping through Zayn's fingers. "Do you think you could ever make use of a tiny little metal thread so sharp it can cut through a ham?" he asks. It's a one-time offer, the caption says.

"No," Niall says without looking up. "Why would anyone want that?"

"To cut through a ham, I'd assume," Louis says.

"You're not going to get it, are you?" Harry asks, reaching over his crossed legs to poke Louis in the side. Zayn's arm comes down to loop protectively around Louis' neck when he wriggles away, though he's in no danger of sliding off the edge of the bed.

"No," Louis tells Harry, though now he's Googling _metal thread sharp enough to cut ham_ on his mobile. "But it'd be interesting. It'd make for interesting conversation."

"We could watch a Star Wars," Liam suggests, flipping through the pages of his booklet. "I've got _Attack of the Clones_." He frowns, flipping back and forth a page. "I must've left the other ones in the DVD player at home."

"You've _only_ got _Attack of the Clones_?" Zayn says, and Louis can feel his stomach tighten beneath his head. "You literally took out every DVD that was better than that, and brought _Attack of the Clones_?"

"Sorry," Liam says, waving the booklet at them and grinning apologetically.

"It's all right, Li," Zayn assures him, petting Louis over the forehead, and Louis grins.

"Put it in," he says. "We can talk over it."

"That's fine," Liam says, then pauses. "I'll just put the subtitles on, then."

"Won't be necessary," Louis says, and Zayn lowers his hand to give him a thumbs up in his field of vision.

The first space battle isn't even over yet when Zayn slowly starts to tighten his arm around Louis' neck, forcing Louis to tilt his head back. Louis reaches up and puts his hands on Zayn's arm, tugging it down, but Zayn holds on, keeping his gaze on the telly, ignoring him.

"Help," Louis croaks in a small voice, sticking out his tongue. "Zayn is trying to kill me."

"You shouldn't do that, Zayn," Liam calls over his shoulder automatically, not sounding concerned in the slightest.

"It's not very nice," Harry agrees, but offers no help whatsoever. Louis is rather doubting the depths of his loyalty.

"I can't breathe," he tries. "I'm dying, painfully." He waits. "If I was Niall, you'd help me," he says.

"If you were Niall, I wouldn't do this to you," Zayn tells him.

"Thanks, cheers," Niall yells, over the sound of blaster fire, and Louis turns over in Zayn's arm.

"Yeah?" he says softly, raising himself over Zayn, trying to duck his head out from under Zayn's grip as he reaches back to push Zayn's arm up and over. He catches Zayn's wrist in his hand as Zayn pulls it away, and holds it down between their bodies, then tries to get a pinch at Zayn's nipple with the other hand before Zayn can grab at him. He's barely quick enough to keep his hand free, and tips his body back between Zayn and Harry's knees, trying to manoeuvre them both to the floor so that he can stay on top. He swerves his hips between Zayn's thighs, feeling the edge of the bed give way underneath him, but then Zayn pushes up suddenly with his shoulder and Louis feels the air whoosh out of him as his back hits the floor.

"Wanker," he says breathlessly, tweaking Zayn's nipple before pushing at his chest so he'll roll off.

"You're pretty rubbish at this," Zayn tells him, smirking down at him.

"Apparently." Louis rolls his eyes toward the telly and they both turn to watch the movie for a while, Zayn's thumb rubbing soft circles over the underside of his wrist where it's pressed to the carpet. He twists it a little in Zayn's grasp and their hands slide together, fingers curling loosely around each other.

"This doesn't happen with my other mates," Louis says, after a moment, eyes still on the screen. Zayn is still holding on to him and Louis could probably catch Zayn by surprise, turn them both over and pin him now that he's relaxed, but he won't. "I think-- I feel this would have gone differently," he says.

"Yeah?" Zayn asks. "You might have bit me? Talk at me 'til I slip up, maybe? You can't do that with me, can you?" He grins and pats Louis on the cheek before rising to his knees and letting Louis up. "You need to sort out your tactics, bro."

It isn't so much that Zayn cheats, Louis thinks, as it is he lures Louis in to a false sense of security, all warm eyes and soft smiles before he makes Louis beg for mercy. Zayn has a way of beating Louis that makes him feel bad for letting Zayn down.

**

"You're the only person I know who actually brings out a book before you're even on the flight," Louis says, settling down in the chair next to Zayn in the VIP lounge of the airport. He toes his shoes off and tucks his feet under himself on the seat, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as he tries to read the thick book over Zayn's shoulder without jostling him overmuch. "Is that Game of Thrones?"

"It's the Song of Ice and Fire series, yeah," Zayn says, without looking up. "I'm just now starting to catch up with them."

Louis rests his cheek on Zayn's shoulder. "Did you actually bring it with you to read?" he asks. "Why didn't you just buy a copy at the bookshop?"

"I already had this at home," Zayn points out, "and I remembered it, so what's the point of that?"

Louis shrugs and pulls his hands free to slide his arms around Zayn inside his jacket. It's warmer there, and Louis leeches off the heat held in by Zayn's jacket's wool lining. "You can remember this, but not your passport," he says.

"Did you bring your earbuds, Lou?" is all Zayn says, knowingly, and Louis hasn't, of course; he turns his face into Zayn's collar with a groan of frustration, and Zayn chuckles and puts his hand on top of Louis' head over his beanie.

"Is it any good?" he asks Zayn, biting him through the wool in his collar.

"Yeah, it's--" Zayn shrugs. "I don't know how they're gonna film some of this stuff, but it's pretty exciting."

"What's going on right now," Louis says. "Where are you right now?"

Zayn smiles down at him. "Are you sure you want me to tell you what happens next? Even though you're watching the show?"

"'Course," Louis says. He straightens up so he can lean his shoulder against Zayn, and tips his head until their temples touch. "Then I can know all the ways it's different from the books, and I'll feel superior."

"Right, of course," Zayn laughs. "Why don't you just read it?" he asks. "You can just, you know," he grins. "Buy a copy at the bookshop."

"I like it when people tell me things," Louis says lightly, and his fingers curl inside Zayn's jacket, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt. "I like it when you tell me things."

"Um, all right-- here," Zayn says, and his hand drops from the top of Louis' head to the back of his neck, encouraging him to lean on him while he talks. Louis closes his eyes and listens and doesn't ask questions or interrupt, and he prides himself on keeping the names straight for some time, until he falls asleep. He has unsettling dreams of jagged-edged thrones and chains of hands linked with gold that turn into Zayn's hands, and he starts awake to Zayn petting him on the side of the face saying, "Lou. Get up, Lou, we're boarding."

He tips his head up and feels his hair brush Zayn's chin and his fists tighten, still clutching at Zayn's shirt from when he was asleep. "Okay," he says, and tries to blink himself more awake. Zayn's looking down at him with a fond, soft-eyed smile, and it's suddenly all Louis can do not to catch his breath, suddenly as though Louis' seeing Zayn for the first time. He lets go of Zayn's shirt and pulls back, a bit alarmed, gets one hand inside his pocket and reaches for his luggage with the other, and manages to put his shoes back on and place some distance between him and Zayn without meeting his eyes.

"Go on-- do it," he hears Niall say quietly when they're all lined up to go through the gate, mouth pressed against the shell of his ear, and turns his head into it, trying to hide his jump of surprise.

"What?" he asks, and a smile spreads on his face as Niall slings an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in close.

"You had that look about you," Niall says, "like you're about to do something stupid and you need someone to tell you it's all right."

"No," Louis says, leaning into him. He rubs his face with his hands. "I'm just tired."

"You've got that look, too," Niall tells him. He bends over and tugs Louis with him, tipping him off-balance, and Louis hip-checks Niall back to right himself, and, staggering, they make it past the flight attendants who look at them skeptically but don't intervene.

Louis rests his chin on Zayn's shoulder while their bags are fit into the overhead bins and tries not to think about what his dream means, about what he thinks he wants, or the realisation that both of those things have to do with Zayn.

**

"I just wanted to say you were right," Louis tells Liam when Liam opens his hotel room door.

Liam simply raises his eyebrows and steps aside to let Louis in. "I was right about...?"

"Zayn winning all the time," Louis says, sitting down on Liam's bed. He tucks his bare feet under the covers. "He does, you were right. I'm just, like, trying to figure out _how_ he does it."

Liam frowns thoughtfully. "He's just... really _good_ , isn't he," he says. "Quick, like a freak," he bends his knees and waves his arms, palms flat and fingers straight, "and, and _slithery_ , and--"

"He says he's on to me," Louis admits, resting his chin in his hands. "I like to think I'm more random than that. I'm not-- it's not like I'm _obvious_."

"Well," Liam shrugs a shoulder, sinking onto the bed next to him with a sigh, and Louis doesn't like the doubtful look on his face at all, but he appreciates that Liam doesn't contradict him at the moment. "I reckon you've got to let him win a couple of times, as well."

" _Let_ him win?" Louis arches an eyebrow. "I'm not _letting_ him win. Do _you_ let him win?"

"Sometimes," Liam says, and sticks his bottom lip out sympathetically. "I don't want him to feel bad or anything."

Louis narrows his eyes at him. "How much is 'sometimes'?"

Liam frowns again, shrugging and reaching across himself to rub at his arm. "I dunno, maybe... half the time?" He glances away sheepishly, and flinches when Louis kicks at him from under the covers, raises up on his knees and digs his finger into Liam's chest.

"You literally lose to Zayn one hundred percent of the time," Louis says slowly, "because half the time you let him win?" His face is warm, warmer than the room's heating unit would seem to justify, and he's at a loss to explain it, because he's not embarrassed that he's always tried, and not that he's never had Liam's advantage in size or strength over Zayn. He's spent so long thinking of beating Zayn as the goal, of getting Zayn to give in to him, that he's never considered surrender. He's never thought of giving Zayn the chance to show him mercy.

"I guess I never thought of it that way," Liam admits, thoughtfully rubbing at the spot on his shin where Louis kicked him. He tilts his head at Louis. "Maybe you're thinking about it too much." He captures Louis' hand in his. "Have you been thinking about it a lot? Does it bother you?" he asks, and Louis tosses his head.

"I'm not bothered," he begins, and he's _not_ , he's not bothered by the way Zayn's eyes go dark and victorious when he knows Louis has to admit he's been beaten, like he knows something Louis doesn't, two steps ahead of Louis' own thoughts. "It's just-- always the same, isn't it," he finishes mildly, and tugs his hand out of Liam's, scrubbing at his forehead with his thumb.

Liam raises his eyebrows. "You want to surprise him?" he asks, a small smile curling at his lips, but it's not unkind. He crawls up the bed next to Louis and leans back against the headboard with him. "That's what this is?"

Louis shakes his head, biting his lip. "Well, he'd have to-- be different, wouldn't he," he says. "He'd have to--" and he can't think of a better word than _notice_ , a better way to say that if Louis could best Zayn, then he'd have to _see_ Louis, actually see him. He has no better way to describe that moment when he woke up in the airport and realized that Zayn was _there_. "He could tell if I just stopped trying," he says instead, with a sigh. "I'm a fighter," he slices his hand through the air. "I fight. I don't give up, that's not what I do."

Liam simply hums in acknowledgment. "It would surprise him, though," he says, after a pause. He nudges Louis with his shoulder. "Fifa?"

Louis pretends to think about it, stifling a smile, but he gets up when Liam does and climbs off the bed in search of the X-Box controllers. "I don't know, Liam Payne," he says. "I feel like I don't know you. All my victories have been put into question." He puts a hand over his heart. "I'm seriously doubting my capabilities, here."

Liam says, "well, you're just going to have to keep wondering, aren't you, Tommo?" with his most enigmatic expression, which is not very enigmatic at all. And if he seems especially cheerful upon his eventual defeat, Louis isn't going to challenge it.

**

Things don't go quite as well as Louis might have hoped before the next show.

It's still too early for them to get properly dressed, so Louis' got a pair of his dress braces out from the wardrobe cart and he's already tried to cuff Liam's ankle to his skateboard, and then to his own wrist. He very quietly and carefully wraps them around his hand and waits until Harry is deeply engrossed in reading his mobile to lash him in the testicles, and then, when Zayn jogs back after finishing up a fag, he swats Zayn on the bum.

The ensuing tug-of-war is satisfying if only because he can keep unravelling his braces one wrap at a time to keep a distance between himself and Zayn, but once they're each grappling with the end of a strap, he knows the chase is on. "You could at least let go so I can defend myself," Louis says indignantly, tugging on his end and feeling it pull taut between them. He ought to be able to whip it at Zayn, he feels. It would only be fair given that Zayn is absolutely going to tackle him.

When he does, Zayn grabs at Louis' right hand when he raises it to shove at Zayn's face, stretching his fingers until he can encircle Louis' wrist with them, and holds it down above Louis' head. His left hand is bent against his chest, pinned between them, and Louis lets his head drop back to the floor, considering a strategic headbutt. Zayn doesn't relax his hold on Louis - in fact, his whole torso tenses with anticipation, his head jerking back slightly - and "Oh my god," Louis realises aloud, "I _am_ obvious," and kisses him instead, and that... was not what he meant to do.

It's not the first time he's kissed Zayn - he's kissed all of the boys before, friendly and comforting and loving pecks all over their faces at some time or another - but it is the first time he's looked at Zayn like this, looked at his bitten lower lip and wanted to put his mouth on it. Zayn freezes above him, eyes still open, and for a moment Louis considers playing it off, as some sort of gaffe on the way to a proper collision of skulls that they have a laugh about, and it's the thought that Zayn might laugh about it that makes his stomach twist, makes him change his mind.

He traces his tongue against the seam of Zayn's lips until Zayn's eyes close and his mouth parts for him and he pushes past Zayn's teeth to meet his tongue inside. His tongue sweeps over Zayn's as Louis tilts his head and pushes forward until Zayn's arms slacken slightly above him, and Louis feels a rush of something like relief that makes him bold and stupid. He twists his wrists out of Zayn's grasp and pulls his head back so that he can roll them, pinning both of Zayn's arms above his head as quickly as he can move them. Upon Zayn's wide-eyed look of confusion, he can't help but grin, a little giddy and a lot breathless. "Say it!" he yells in Zayn's face. "Say it!"

"All right, all right," Zayn sighs, his lips soft and plump and still wet. His cheeks go slightly pink. "You win."

"Replay louder," Louis says.

Zayn groans. "Oh, you're not fucking--" he starts to say, and Louis fits his knee in between Zayn's legs.

"Wrong answer--"

"I said you win," Zayn says, loudly. "You win, for fuck's sake, you're such a sore winner."

"Replay that last word," Louis says, but he rolls off of Zayn and gets to his knees. He can hear the slow applause coming from the others now, and he nods at them and holds out his fist for bumps.

"That was sexy," Niall tells him, touching their knuckles together. "That was a sexy kiss."

"Thanks, Niall, I like to think of it as a victory kiss," Louis tells him.

"You hadn't won yet," Zayn says, sitting up with a grunt. He still looks disheveled and he's still breathing a bit heavier, but when Louis offers a hand to pull him up, Zayn waves him off and gets up on his own. "And it won't work again," he adds.

"Eh? What's that supposed to mean?" Louis says, faster than he'd have liked, before he processes and remembers that there's more than one way to take a statement about whether or not you can have the opportunity to kiss one of your mates more than once.

"I mean, this isn't Extreme Sports, bro," Zayn says sullenly, and when he meets Louis' gaze Louis is met with the full force of his disappointment, and that was not exactly what he was expecting. He hasn't thought it out this far, to the part where he has to face Zayn afterward, and he wonders if it was a bit much to hope for Zayn to look more pleasantly surprised, or a little turned on, or maybe just the way he looks at Louis when they talk about the things they love in life. "You can't just, like, _escalate_ every time you don't get your own way," Zayn says, and Louis, stung, bites down on his lip, shaking his head.

"And you can't throw a tantrum just because you didn't get yours," he says sharply. He feels around on the carpet for his braces, eyes locked with Zayn's, and when his fingers close around them he squeezes until the metal clasps bite into his hand.

Liam clears his throat. "We should probably start getting, um," he jerks his thumb over his shoulder when they look at him, and Louis nods, throwing his braces over his shoulder.

"Yeah," he says, and hugs Zayn because they have a show to do and they don't stay angry with each other, and Zayn says,

"You're a twat, but I love you, you know."

Louis laughs and says, "same, Zayn. Same," and he wonders how to get them back to the point where he can kiss Zayn and let Zayn know he means it.

**

"I'm thinking of letting Zayn win next time," Louis says, quietly, to Harry, after the show. They're the first to be dressed and ready for the bus, and Louis had to forego rather a lot of grooming to make sure he'd catch Harry out before the others. His quiff is half wilted and stuck to his forehead with sweat, and half standing up in spikes wherever his shirt and hands have mussed it. He's pretty certain he smells terrible. "You know, next time we get into a scuffle or something."

"Zayn already kind of wins every time," Harry cautiously points out, half a question, like he hates to be the one to break the news to Louis.

"But the important thing is I fight back," Louis says. "I make him work for it."

"Right, sure," Harry says, nodding, his eyes very wide as though Louis can't see his mouth quirking at the corners.

Louis narrows his eyes at him. "You're trying not to laugh at me."

"No, I'm not," Harry says, loudly. He rubs at his face and when Louis leans in closer, he coughs and turns his head and puts his hand over his mouth, but Louis can see his cheek dimple behind his thumb.

"Right," Louis says. "Well, you're a lot of help. I'll just ask Liam, then. Liam's a mate--"

"Oh, stop," Harry says, reaching for Louis' elbow as he makes a show of turning away. He rubs at Louis' arm. "You're gonna let him win," he repeats for Louis earnestly. "I'm listening."

Louis hesitates. "I-- I think I need your help," he says. "I need to know, like." He draws a circle in the air with his fingers around his face. "Hit me."

Harry quirks an eyebrow at him, then a small, suspicious smile spreads across his face. "Um," he says. "Where?"

"My face," Louis says. "Slap me, or-- or my arm, whatever, I don't care."

Thirty seconds later, Louis has punched a small bruise into Harry's upper arm, has Harry's forehead pressed to his knee, and is digging the knuckle of his middle finger into the top of Harry's skull. "Why am I doing this, Harry," he grunts, shifting his arm around Harry's neck.

"I'm-- I don't know," Harry gasps. His arms flail wildly out to the sides, yet he miraculously manages not to hit Louis with either of them. "Lemme go? Please?"

"I'm not bigger than you," Louis reasons. "I'm not stronger than you, Harry, I don't-- I've seen your arms, all right-- so why do I have you in a headlock and why are you asking me politely to let you go?"

"Lemme go," Harry whines. "Lemme go and I'll explain."

"Make me," Louis says, and Harry makes a pitiful, choked-off sound before he reaches up slowly and wraps his hand around Louis' wrist. He pushes his thumb in against the bone and twists it, and when Louis's fingers open up of their own will, sharp pain shooting up towards his elbow, Harry lifts his arm and ducks out from underneath it, biting his lip. 

Louis stares at him, feeling betrayed. "Ow?" he says, and Harry lets go, immediately apologetic.

"I'm sorry," he says, shaking out his fringe and tucking it back behind his ear. "Sorry, that was. I can explain. Basically," he sighs. "It comes down to pigtails." He follows it up with a pointed look that Louis can't begin to understand.

"Explain _quickly_ , Harry," Louis says, terse.

"You pull pigtails," Harry elaborates. "And _I_ figure, it's best to just let you get on with it, or it could send the wrong message."

"Of course I pull pigtails," Louis concedes, and he's starting to dislike the implications of this. "I've got four sisters," he says, just to be obtuse. "I'm up to my balls in pigtails, of course I pull them." He reaches up and tugs on one of Harry's curls until his head tilts with the force of it. "That's what I _do_."

"Yeah," Harry tells him. He waits until Louis lets go to fuss with his fringe again. "That's why it's funny you can't see Zayn's pulling yours right back."

**

 _Im coming over :) x_ Zayn texts Louis when he gets out of the shower back at his hotel room, and Louis grins and grabs his mobile to respond _your going to have to talk to me properly then! x_ and lets himself feel relieved because as long as they're talking, everything else will be all right between them.

Zayn comes to his room smelling of smoke and still struggling to slip a pack of fags into his back jeans pocket, and he helps himself to a soda from Louis' mini-fridge before he says, "I just wanna say, you really could've chosen a better way to do my head in tonight."

"You've _pretended to cry_ , Zayn," Louis says.

"That's different," Zayn says. "There's nothing to--"

"You've pretended to get a call from your mum--"

"All right, you've done that one, too--"

"You pretended I hit you in the eye--"

"You _have_ hit me in the eye!" Zayn throws up his hand, and then runs it through his hair. "Look, none of that _matters_ , right? It's not like we play around with anything _important_ , and it's like..." he shrugs. "I thought we were just having a laugh," he says, and he looks a bit lost, a bit sad, and Louis feels like he's lost to Zayn all over again.

"It's just so frustrating," Louis sighs. "We're practically the same, you and me, and you always get the better of me, and I just don't understand how it's possible. Your arms are," and he reaches out to wrap his fingers around Zayn's bicep. His hand doesn't go all the way round, and he doesn't think much of that, but he digs his fingers in until Zayn makes a face and tries to pull back, and it's all firm beneath his fingertips, all muscle and sinew. "There's not much there," he tries. "And you're light - I could pick you up _so_ easily--"

Zayn makes a noise of protest and shakes his head, curling his lip. "No you couldn't."

Louis raises his eyebrows at him. "Yeah. I could."

"No, you _couldn't_." Zayn shrugs, chin still wrinkled from the dubious face he's pulling.

Louis is fairly certain that Zayn's mocking him now, and he huffs a laugh. "Right, okay. _Can I lift you up, Zayn_?" he asks.

Zayn shrugs again, setting his can down and folding his arms. "You can _try_."

Louis rolls his eyes and wraps his arms round Zayn's waist, clasping his hands behind Zayn's back, and hoists him backwards bodily, bending his legs into it. Zayn rocks slightly on his feet, but doesn't otherwise budge. Louis staggers back, dragging Zayn with him, and tries again, tilting back and trying to get Zayn's feet to leave the ground. "That's--" he frowns to the room behind Zayn's back, then lets go of Zayn and pushes him away at arm's length. Zayn takes a very controlled step backwards, as though he's only going because he wants to, and Louis scowls. "What've you got in your pockets?"

"I got nothing in my pockets, Lou," Zayn tells him, trying to fight a smile, but not very hard, Louis can tell. He reaches into them anyway, pulling the fabric out and tossing the only contents - a lighter - onto the armchair a few feet away.

Louis just stares at him for a moment, at Zayn with his soft flat stomach and his narrow waist and thin legs and wrists and his ink-stained fingers, and he says, "I just feel like I can't get anywhere with you." He raises his hand to push it through Zayn's hair, and Zayn flinches back, capturing Louis' wrist in his hand; Louis shakes his head, letting his shoulders sag. He shrugs. "The other lads have noticed," he admits.

"You mean, _you've_ noticed," Zayn says.

"I'm just so tired of--" Louis bites his lip. He doesn't want to say _losing_. He tries to pull back his wrist, but Zayn keeps his grip on it, fingers gentle but firm around the bones. Louis tugs harder and Zayn's hand tightens, and he tries to slap at Zayn's cheek but it's left-handed, clumsy, and Zayn bats his hand away, forcing him to feint below the belt, bringing up a knee protectively for himself. Zayn crowds him, has him retreating, defending one-handed, until he knows the wall is to his back, and he knows Zayn's going to push him into it, pin his arms maybe. He remembers what Harry said and suddenly whether or not he can fight Zayn off ceases to matter, as he throws caution to the wind.

"I give up," he blurts, gaze fixed on the way his wrist twists in Zayn's grasp. He feels his face heat up and he's grateful for the moment they're only lit by the nightstands and desk lamp in the room.

There's a pause, the sound of their laboured breathing filling the room, and then Zayn says, "What?" His voice is sharp, and when Louis looks back up at him, his eyes have narrowed.

"I-- you win," Louis says. "We can see where this is going, yeah?"

"Where _is_ this going?" Zayn says. He tucks his chin in and regards Louis skeptically, breathing hard through his nose. "You're just gonna stop trying, then, just like that."

"I can't win with you, Zayn, and I just feel stupid trying," Louis says, and Zayn lets go, splaying his fingers to release him, rocks back on his heels, and frowns at him.

"Is that why you think I-- is that what you think this is about?" he asks. He reaches out and traces his finger down Louis' bicep, though the ticklish part of his inner elbow, and curls his fingers back round Louis' wrist again. "You doing anything you can to win?" He lifts Louis' hand up between them and shuffles closer, repeating the action with his left hand, his finger trailing over the _Far Away_ and his hand covering up the quotation marks at Louis' wrist. Louis watches the path of Zayn's fingers and stares at their hands between them and when Zayn moves his hands apart and manoeuvres him that final step to brace them against the wall, he twists his wrists experimentally, testing. Zayn's fingers don't tighten around him for once, just once, and Louis keeps his hands where they are.

"This is the important part, yeah?" Zayn says, raising his eyebrows. He leans in. "You can have this one," he goes on, "so stop keeping a fucking tally," and the press of his lips against Louis' is soft, the way he opens his mouth right away to lick along Louis' upper lip a tentative advance. 

He pulls away and Louis can't help but burst into giggles at the way Zayn can wrestle him into a wall but kisses him like he might come apart, like this wasn't something he's wanted for longer than he's even known. "You're an idiot," he breathes, grinning at Zayn's face, and after a moment Zayn laughs right back, sheepish at his own seriousness.

" _I'm_ the idiot?" he says, and kicks at Louis' ankle with the side of his foot. He lets go of Louis' wrists and Louis pokes him in the chest with his finger.

"You knew!" Louis says. "You knew this whole time I fancied you and you let me--"

"I didn't know!" Zayn insists. "I just, I dunno, I thought you were being _quirky_ or summat--"

"You've been kicking my arse, mate," Louis says sardonically. "It'd give anyone a complex--"

"I didn't know you were serious," Zayn says, and smiles, the slow, knowing smile he gets when a compliment hits home. "I thought you just liked it when I held you down."

Louis tosses his head. "Ugh, god," he says, lifting his hands up between them and cupping Zayn's face, thumbs sweeping over the hints of stubble on his cheeks. "Can we not go there just yet?" Zayn's eyes are huge and bright, catching the light in a million warm shades of brown and green, and Louis licks his lips right before Zayn leans back in and presses their mouths together again. Louis sighs into the kiss, letting one hand slide up and around Zayn's neck as if to drag him closer, but Zayn's already shouldering Louis into the wall, his warm, solid chest firm against him. Zayn tilts his head and sucks Louis' upper lip into his mouth, tugging at it gently with his teeth, sending pinprickles of sensation down Louis' spine, making him shudder as he licks at the patch of skin beneath Zayn's lower lip.

His fingers curl around the back of Zayn's neck and vaguely he senses Zayn's hands sinking into his own hair, feels Zayn's fingers drag up the sensitive skin behind his ears and he moans, smooths his hand down over Zayn's upper back, rubs at his shoulder and strokes the side of his face with his other hand. Zayn opens his mouth to Louis' tongue, sweeps his own against it before sucking on it with a low sound in his throat, bumping his knee against the wall between Louis' thighs and pushing forward with his hips.

Louis tilts up into it, shoulders braced for leverage, as he tears his mouth away from Zayn's with a gasp as his cock hardens, starts to press up against his zip. He drags his lips across Zayn's stubble, across the line of his jaw, and bites the skin over the tendon in Zayn's neck just to hear Zayn cry out, his breath stuttering over the wet spot he leaves behind. His heart is racing, body warm with anticipation and adrenaline from their scuffle, and this is _Zayn_ , Zayn with his sharp jaw beneath Louis' fingers. He needs to know Zayn feels just as unravelled as he does.

He brings his hand up the back of Zayn's skull, dragging his fingers through Zayn's quiff and over his forehead, and Zayn's fingers tighten in his own hair as he says, " _fuck_ , Lou," drawn out and low, his voice thick. He holds Louis' head steady but eases off at the same time, kissing Louis with a surprising sweetness despite the urgency in his voice, and when he slides his hands between them, up the inside of Louis' shirt and over his stomach, his hands are gentle. He pushes Louis' shirt up and over his chest, fingers roaming through his chest hair and teasing at his nipples until Louis breaks their kiss to pull his shirt off between them; he joins Zayn in unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders.

Zayn is breathing as hard as Louis, now, but still keeping his movements small and gentle, and as he breathes in puffs against Louis' cheek he says, "calm down, Lou, it's all right."

"No," Louis sighs, nudging up on his toes to mouth over the skin behind Zayn's ear.

Zayn says, "there's no rush, yeah?" and Louis shakes his head because he can't stand it, Zayn's hands smoothing over his nipples, Zayn's careful fingers along his collarbone. He takes Zayn's hands in his and places them on his arse, cupping it over them, and presses so close to Zayn he can feel the entire length of Zayn's body along his own, no space between them and their thighs slotted against each other. Zayn's hands squeeze around Louis' arse without further encouragement and that's all he needed to go from mostly hard to hard as a fucking rock, so he bites at Zayn's shoulder and slides his own hands round to Zayn's bum. He bucks his hips and relishes the choked sound Zayn makes against his neck when their cocks rub against each other through denim, and after a few thrusts they start to match each others' rhythm and it's enough, brilliant, pressure on his dick and Zayn's lips on his face and Zayn's hands back in his hair, tugging and then massaging his scalp until Louis' head is tingling and he really wants to come, and he can't, not like this.

He says as much to Zayn, who nods, forehead pressed to Louis', saying, "yeah, all right," and Louis fits his hands around Zayn's waist, holding himself steady as he sinks to his knees, hair dragging down Zayn's abs on the way to the waistband of his trousers.

"Can I," he says, tugging the button open, tilting his head back up to look at Zayn for confirmation, and Zayn's-- he's gorgeous, mouth slack and red from kissing, his eyes dark and hooded and staring down at Louis from under his lashes as he nods.

"Have you ever," he says, breath catching, "like--"

Louis bites his lip and looks at the line of Zayn's cock against the cotton of his pants. He hasn't, ever, but "it's a simple enough concept, isn't it?" he asks, in lieu of an answer. He pushes Zayn's jeans and pants down over his hips past his cock and puts his mouth on the length of it before he even frees his hands to get one into his own jeans, wrapping it around his dick. Zayn lets out a stuttered breath and Louis encircles the base of his cock, licking his way up to the head, and then around it. Zayn is thick between his lips, and he goes down as far as he dares on the first push, sucking in his cheeks and wetting his fingers before pulling back up, flattening his tongue as he goes. The waistband of his pants is pressing into his wrist as he strokes himself and it's awkward, trying to time his hand to his mouth and his other hand between the two, but Zayn's making breathy noises above him and the image of his lips, red and swollen, are seared into his mind and it spurs him on.

Zayn's hands find their way back into Louis' hair, thumbs rubbing over Louis' hairline as his fingertips press into the back of Louis' skull, and his hips start to move in little jabs that make Louis pull back and use more of his hand to jerk him. He has to pull off entirely once or twice, so turned on he's moaning by now, squeezing the base of his cock to keep from coming too quickly, and Zayn graduates to murmuring under his breath, nonsense and curses and his name.

"Lou," Zayn moans, clenching one fist in the hair at the back of Louis' head, "Lou, I'm gonna come," and Louis digs his fingertips into Zayn's narrow hips, hand spanning his hard, solid waist, and holds him still as Zayn sucks in a sharp breath as his come spurts salty and warm over Louis' tongue. It's sudden and Louis figures he's a swallower, isn't sure how he'd avoid it anyway, deposited as it is at the back of his throat. He can't keep back the sounds he's making, desperate little noises at the back of his throat as he swallows, and when he pulls off Zayn's cock, he looks up and shudders at the way Zayn is watching him hungrily from beneath his thick lashes. 

"Christ, Lou," Zayn mumbles, running his tongue over his lower lip. "You look like-- are you gonna come?" 

Louis tips forward until his forehead is resting on Zayn's hip, feeling his hair grow more mussed sliding against Zayn's skin as he nods. "Yeah-- yeah," he slurs, his fist working furiously over his cock, precariously on the edge, and Zayn leans into him suddenly, knocks his hand away and manoeuvres his back to the floor with a palm to his chest. "Wha-" he says, hips jerking helplessly, and he's going to come, he's already on the way there, and as Zayn drops to his knees and clambers down the length of his body, all he can think is he's going to come all over Zayn's face, and that's not a mental image that's going to stay with him for the rest of his life, of course it isn't. 

Zayn manages to beat him to it, sliding his lips over the head of Louis' cock before it starts pulsing, and Louis' eyes roll back into his head on the sight of Zayn's lips, the gaze he directed upward through his lashes, his mussed quiff. His hips come off the ground and he's sure he's fucking Zayn's mouth now, thrusting in time with the waves of his orgasm, but his fists are clenched around air and he says, "Zayn, oh god, _Zayn_ , _fuck_ ," and when he can open his eyes again Zayn lets his spent cock fall from his mouth and chews his lip thoughtfully.

"Can we talk about how you like it when I hold you down now?" he says, and Louis doesn't have the energy to punch him in the chest for that, so he decides to let it go.

**

They forego showering together in the morning, because when they woke up Zayn had looked at Louis and said, "yeah, I'm not really interested in getting you _clean_ right now," so Zayn goes back to his own room and when Louis finally gets to the consuite to meet the others, Zayn is already there, pressing a styrofoam cup into his hands.

"I've got your tea here," Zayn says, before turning away to tuck into his own. Louis hums his thanks and closes his eyes to the steam rising off his tea, blowing over it before taking a huge gulp, and then he freezes, hot tea swishing in his mouth. It tastes like saltwater, like sweat - with _cream_ , for fuck's sake - and Louis can see Zayn already a safe distance across the room trying to fit his feet into a pair of trainers and failing because he's watching for Louis' reaction from beneath his fringe.

Louis would very much like to dribble his salted tea all over Zayn's pristine trainers, but it's a bit much of a walk to hold a straight face, so he spits out into the cup first, to deprive Zayn of the pleasure of seeing him grimace. "I'll give you a head start," he tells Zayn, stalking over, and Zayn darts away.

"These are Niall's!" he shouts, eyes positively sparkling with delight because _of course_ they would be, because Zayn isn't an idiot. Louis sets his cup down on the counter of the breakfast nook before he takes a running leap and loops his arm around Zayn's neck for the leverage to hop on his back. "You can't be serious," Zayn says, spinning before Louis' had a chance to hook his legs round Zayn's waist. "I'm not carrying you anywhere--" and Louis scrubs his fingers through Zayn's fringe and puts his hands over Zayn's eyes and holds on tight.

"Fuck," Zayn spits, and turns again, staggering, one hand tugging at Louis' and the other outstretched before him. "I'm gonna-- I'm gonna run you into a wall, I'm serious--"

"Sure you will," Louis says brightly, struggling to keep his knees tight and bent by Zayn's hips. He's pulling back on Zayn's head as he tries not to fall backward, and when Zayn goes down onto his knees he goes hard, jolting them both with a grunt.

"Get off, get off," Zayn mutters, rolling onto his back to pin Louis, and Louis takes the opportunity to hook his ankles around Zayn's torso, letting go of his face to hug him close. He's got him, now, Zayn's light body pressing him into the ground and he wants to kick himself for not having thought of it this way before, that this was what he wanted, that he just wanted to keep Zayn with him like this.

Zayn twists in his arms, rolling them both to one side and then the other, Louis holding on for dear life to keep his position on top until Zayn has managed to get a hand down between them and wriggles the rest of the way round. He doesn't bother to grab for Louis' hands, letting Louis continue to hold him as he props himself up over him, and Louis lets his legs fall apart for Zayn to settle properly between them. Louis' not hard - neither of them are - but Zayn rocks up for leverage, his breath coming fast and hard in Louis' face, and he will be in a minute if they don't stop. He lets go of Zayn to push at his shoulders and Zayn takes that as his cue to lighten up, pinning first one of Louis' hands and then the other to the ground, their palms together.

"All right," Louis says breathlessly, and spreads his fingers out beneath Zayn's hands so that Zayn's fingers fall into the gaps between Louis' own. "You win," he says. It feels like an invitation and a promise, rather than surrender.

"I know," Zayn says, and ducks his head to press a quick kiss behind Louis' ear before he lets him up.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this](http://everyoneisinlovewithlouis.tumblr.com/post/35555150772/x), and my mind hasn't been the same since.
> 
> Thanks so much to [flimsy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flimsy) and [aliferuined](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliferuined) for the encouragement, and [checkthemargins](http://archiveofourown.org/users/checkthemargins) for beta-reading!
> 
> [Tumblr](http://randominitea.tumblr.com) | [LJ](http://randominity.livejournal.com)


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